છે. TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES, COMMONLY CALLED THE TORSO. AND dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone, (Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurl'd) Still sit as on the fragment of a world; Surviving all, majestic and alone? What tho' the Spirits of the North, that swept Rome from the earth, when in her pomp she slept, Smote thee with fury, and thy headless trunk Deep in the dust mid tower and temple sunk; Soon to subdue mankind 'twas thine to rise, Still, still unquell'd thy glorious energies! M Aspiring minds, with thee conversing, caught* Bright revelations of the Good they sought; By thee that long-lost spell in secret giv❜n, To draw down Gods, and lift the soul to Heav'n! * In the garden of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II, it was long the favourite study of those great men, to whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci. ON thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew. Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers; Thine be the joys to firm attachment due. As on she moves with hesitating grace, She wins assurance from his soothing voice; And, with a look the pencil could not trace, Smiles thro' her blushes, and confirms the choice. Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame! To thee she turns-forgive a virgin's fears! To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim, Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears! At each response the sacred rite requires, From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh. And on her lips the trembling accents die. O'er her fair face what wild emotions play! What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend! Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day, And settled sunshine on her soul descend! Ah soon, thine own confest, ecstatic thought! That hand shall strew thy summer-path with flowers; And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught, Gild the calm current of domestic hours! |